The trees of Sherwood Forest were in their first green leaf of spring. Rook relaxed beneath their sheltering boughs, after the morning's hunt. The hunt had yielded nothing but three rabbits, scrawny and lean as Rook himself after the long winter, but they were better than nothing. They would keep Rowan Hood's little outlaw band fed for one night, at least.

Rook stretched his limbs, enjoying the feel of space, and the hint of warmth in the air. He was glad that the weather had finally turned. The harsh winter had forced him out of his cave in the rocky tor, and into the crowded cottage that Rowan, Etty, and Beau shared. Rook had not been the only one. Lionel had wintered there as well, complaining constantly of the cold, and the cramped conditions. Around Midwinter, Rowan's father, Robin Hood, had fallen ill, and Rowan had insisted that space be made for him, so that heo could tend to him with heore healing magic. Then, just when Robin was on the mend, the child had come ...

The winter had been an ordeal for Rook, who enjoyed his space and solitude. He loved Rowan and the others, but he was glad to finally be able to retreat to his quiet cave once more.

Rook closed his eyes and breathed in, letting the peace and solitude of the forest flow through him. The rustle of leaves on the trees. The nearby foraging of some creature too small to be considered food. The hum of an early bee. The distant rush of the river. And then another sound. A human sound. Rook's eyes popped open. He listened intently, waiting for the breeze to carry the noise to his ears once more. There. It sounded like ... whistling. Someone was whistling in the forest.

Quiet as any greenwood creature, Rook rose to his feet and stepped behind a tree, peering out past its thick trunk, waiting.

A moment later, a figure appeared on the narrow path through the glade. The figure was tall, and walked with a slight limp. His brown habit marked him as a wandering friar, the cowl pulled forward to hide his face. He whistled cheerfully as he walked.

Rook frowned, puzzled. Most travelers through Sherwood Forest feared attracting the attention of outlaws, and made their journeys as swiftly and quietly as possible. This man seemed not to care who knew of his presence. Or perhaps he wanted to draw attention to himself. He might be acting as bait, to draw outlaws to him, in the hope of collecting a bounty. Rook's eyes narrowed, looking the tall figure over for weapons, but aside from a stout walking stick, he was unarmed. Scanning his surroundings, Rook searched for any hint of soldiers or sheriff's men who might be lying in wait for an unwary outlaw, but he could see no sign of movement in the bushes. The forest was still and quiet.

The monk paused, looking around. Rook froze. Had the man sensed his presence somehow? But no, it seemed that he was only getting his bearings. He changed direction, turning off the narrow path onto a deer track, and continued on his way.

Rook's frown deepened. If the man kept on in that direction, he would pass perilously close to the rowan hollow, and Rowan's cottage. The hollow and the cottage were protected by the aelfe - magical forest spirits who were Rowan's kinfolk - but it was not in Rook's nature to rely too much on supernatural beings of any kind. He turned his head and gave a sharp jackdaw call of warning, cupping his hands around his mouth to conceal the direction and source of the birdcall from the traveller. The signal meant a stranger near the band's home. If one of the band was nearby, they would hear it.

When Rook turned back, the stranger had stopped again, and was standing still, looking around. The monk lowered his hood, revealing a freckled face of about Rook's own age - certainly no older than twenty - and light brown tonsured hair. To Rook's surprise, the man cupped his own hands around his mouth, and attempted to imitate the jackdaw call.

Lowering his hands, the man called out, "Rook, is that you?"

Rook tensed, staring at the monk's face, trying to place him. There was certainly something familiar about him, but Rook had never met a friar apart from Tuck, of Robin Hood's band, and Tuck was more than twice this man's age and size.

"I bring word of Runkling!" called the monk with a smile.

Rook gasped. He did know the man - or rather, he had known the lost and lonely boy who had been his friend some five years past, and whom Rook had last seen riding away from Sherwood Forest with Rook's pet piglet, Runkling, tucked safely inside his cloak.

The young outlaw stepped from behind the tree, showing himself. Catching sight of him, the monk's smile widened.

"Well met, Friend Rook."

"Well met, Tod Sheriffson."

The monk winced. "It's just 'Brother Tod' now."

Rook nodded. He could understand that well enough. Tod's father, the Sheriff of Nottingham, was a cruel man who bore no more love for his own son than he did for any of the outlaws who dwelt in Sherwood Forest.

Tod's smile returned as he looked Rook over from head to toe, taking in his wild black hair, sun-browned skin, sheepskin vest and leggings, and bare feet.

"You look well," he said at last. "How fare the others?"

His voice carried a note of concern. Tod knew as well as Rook did how chancy the life of an outlaw was. He could not dare to hope that everyone he had known on his last visit to the forest had made it through the years unscathed.

"Rowan's band are all well," Rook assured him. "Robin Hood's band has grown in numbers, and devils your father more with each passing year."

Tod shook his head, smile turning brittle. "I have no father any longer but God. I am pleased to know, though, that the man who sired me has not made the world a worse place by destroying those who truly love and value life."

"If he has failed, it wasn't for lack of trying," Rook said grimly, but let the unpleasant subject drop. "Rowan and the others will be pleased to see you. I'll take you to them, if you wish."

"Gladly," said Tod, brightening.

Rook retrieved his rabbits from behind the tree, and the two young men set off through the forest together.

"Tell me of the others," Tod said eagerly. "What has passed with you since I left?"

"Lionel is taller than ever," Rook told him, "and just as hard to keep fed. Rowan and Etty and Beau live together in a cottage near the rowan hollow. This winter past, they took in the orphaned child of a woodsman and his wife, dead of sickness."

"God rest their souls," said Tod, crossing himself and bowing his head briefly, as if in prayer.

Rook paused to wait for him. While Tod's head was lowered, the young outlaw looked him over. His friend had changed much over the last five years. He was a man now; handsome of face, broad of shoulders, tall and well-built - almost a head taller than Rook himself - and when he opened them again, his eyes were warm and brown.

Tod caught Rook's eye on him, and smiled. Rook returned the smile briefly before looking away. He was not ashamed of the way he sometimes looked at other men, and he knew that if he did not act as if he were doing anything untoward, the men he looked at were less likely to take exception.

"You mentioned Etty?" Tod prompted, as they continued on their way.

"I forgot that you've not met Princess Ettarde," said Rook. "She was away with her mother's kin the last time you were here."

Tod nodded. "I remember the others speaking of her. And my fa - and the sheriff, too," he amended, his expression darkening briefly.

"What of you?" asked Rook. "A man of God now, is it?" He could not hide a smile.

Tod laughed. "Are you surprised that the Lord has use for the likes of me?"

Rook shook his head, grinning. "No. It's only, when I thought of you, I never imagined you in a monk's habit."

Tod glanced sideways, catching Rook's eye with a warm smile. "I'm glad to hear that you thought of me."

"Well, I missed my pig," Rook mumbled, flustered. He felt heat rise to his cheeks, and hoped that Tod would not notice him blushing.

"I did promise you word of him, did I not?" Tod grinned. "Runkling is well. He's enormous, and the father of hundreds of healthy piglets, these five years past. He earns his keep very well indeed."

Rook let out a breath he had not known he was holding. "I feared he had ended up on some lord's supper table."

Tod halted in his tracks and turned to Rook, a hand on his shoulder. Rook looked up, startled, into brown eyes full of feeling.

"Never," the young monk swore. "I would not have allowed it. You gave him into my protection, Rook. I would never have betrayed your trust."

Rook lowered his eyes, humbled, the heat that had flushed his cheeks settling into a blooming warmth in his chest.

"I - thank you, Tod," he mumbled.